Jump Out: The Maggie Turner project
by Joseph Solomon
Summary: With the premise from the Jumper novels - not movie - readers are introduced to new teleporter Maggie Turner. No convenient bad guys, no sinister conspiracies - just a teleportation-driven plot that explores leftover themes from Gould's first two books.
1. Surprises

Disclaimer: I do not own the premise of teleportation, nor Gould's terminology (jumping). This fanfiction is inspired by the work Steven Gould began in "Jumper" and "Reflex." However, several questions are left unanswered, which may justify a completely different story: how exactly does teleportation work and how do jumpers do it? I intend to answer those questions as well as follow-through with a handful of themes Gould did not. (I would name them, but that might be spoiling it.) I do not own those themes, but it'd be hard to say who exactly does.

1. Establishment

The first time for me went like this.

I was crying on the drive home from school and probably speeding. I kept thinking about my friends back in Spokane when I should have been thinking about the road.

My first day at Antelope Valley High School could have gone worse. The math class was teaching geometry. Even though I was the math whiz at Shadle Park High School back in Washington, I hadn't ever taken geometry. The teacher said she would help if I stayed after-school. As if I didn't already feel dumb enough.

The drive home wasn't familiar. I had taken time driving to the school, partly because I didn't want to go. But now, the roads were twisting in different ways, taking me past different landmarks.

If Mom or Dad had known this place was known as "the bad school," they would have let me stay with a tutor or go to some alternative school on the air force base near Dad.

Mom let me drive the Tempo because I'd taken the new move really well. That probably was before some of the girls in the locker room took my memory book. I was lucky I left my purse with the car. My old friends – Janice and Terry and Mark – they made a book of memories we had since we were freshmen. They gave it to me in the tree house in my backyard in Spokane.

A second In-N-Out Burger passed me on my left. Did I even pass one of those on the way to school?

When I looked back at the road, it had turned to the right, very far to the right.

I tried to push the brake before I went into the oncoming lanes. Instead, the car picked up more speed. Something rocked the whole car – maybe the median. There was a long honk while everything spun to the left. The wheel spun out of my hands. I saw the tree on the edge of the road coming fast...

Then, I felt a small tap on the back of my head as my whole body kicked backward - against nothing. No tree, no steering wheel, no car. Instead, I heard rain outside my tree house in Spokane.

I knew it was my tree house, even though the tinsel and Christmas lights I used to decorate it were gone, packed in my room in Rosamond now.

I was shivering when I peeked out the tree house window. It wasn't the cold.

That was the first time.

I didn't remember whether Mom or Dad said the old house sold because I was too busy stressing out about moving. I climbed to the yard. The rain and cold kept me from thinking I was hallucinating or dreaming.

The back door was locked.

I felt at my hip for my purse, and it was gone. It was probably still in the Tempo. By the time the rain stopped, the afternoon was almost gone and I was still sitting by the back door.  
-

"Who is it?"

"It's Maggie," I said.

Our old neighbor "Aunt Ruthie" opened the door to look. She wasn't really my aunt, but I got into the habit of calling her that. Mom and Dad didn't really discourage it.

"Maggie Turner?" Ruthie opened the door really wide. "I thought you and your folks had already moved." She ignored her implied question when she saw I had walked in the rain to her house. "Come on in."

Aunt Ruthie didn't broach the subject until later. She fixed me some soup, offered a change of clothes from her son's stored clothes. I always thought her house felt smaller than ours because she stored so much stuff. Not as much room to hide.

When Aunt Ruthie started washing the dishes, she said, "I didn't figure you for much of a runaway."

While I was still trying to figure out what to say, Aunt Ruthie said. "I guess we better call your parents."  
-

I didn't tell Mom and Dad what happened. I didn't know what happened. But I think Dad suspected something.

Mom and Dad had called the police, but they didn't get to file a report. I'd only been gone for the afternoon.

One thing they couldn't get around was that I didn't have my car. Mom started to panic because they couldn't afford a plane ticket after the move. Dad bought a bus ticket, though, and e-mailed it to Aunt Ruthie's computer.

I spent most of the night fiddling with Aunt Ruthie's printer, making sure I could get home.

Aunt Ruthie drove me to the Plaza in Spokane, riding up the escalator with me and waiting until the bus came.

"You know your parents love you, right?" she asked once.

"Of course."

"And you know I love you, too, Maggie?"

I hugged her. Worries gnawed on my lips. I didn't want to cry here.

Aunt Ruthie patted my back. "I'm glad you came to me. And you'll be careful on that bus, understand?"

I nodded.

"It's dangerous out there, Maggie."

I had a seat to myself for most of the ride. Aunt Ruthie had given me a knapsack – a blanket, toothbrush and toothpaste, some hair bands, a small bottle of shampoo, and two $20 bills for food. I sat sideways, back to the window with the sack under my knees. For a while, I wore the blanket over me, but most of the people on the bus ignored me.

The driver stopped the bus often. People got off to smoke around the bus door. I stayed on the bus, though, wishing I had a book to read. My ticket estimated we would get back to the Amtrak Station in Lancaster Thursday at 11 a.m. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and tried to sleep.

Instead, I stared at the blue-gray upholstery on the chair in front of me.

Would they find my driver's license in the crash?

Was anyone injured?

The biggest question for me was how I wound up in Spokane, instead of the hospital.

I felt the bus ease its speed. Another smoke break. I had to go to the bathroom this time. A Flying J truck stop slid into view as the bus pulled over.

I followed the crowd getting off. Only a few others went inside with me.

When I got out of the bathroom, my stomach churned. Lunchtime. I took out my first $20 and asked the cashier for one of the hot dogs in the rotisserie roller. While the big lady took it out, I noticed more people were sitting in the Flying J lounge. No one I recognized from the bus.

I started to panic.

The lady handed me back my change, and I took the hot dog, rushing out the door.

In the parking lot, there were a few more trucks. And, my bus was pulling out of the sloped parking lot onto the highway frontage road.

I ran into the cloud of dust. They were leaving me. After Dad paid for that ticket, I was getting dumped into the middle of nowhere.

I was waving my hot dog hand, trying to catch the driver's attention. My other hand kept pulling my knapsack back onto my shoulder. He wasn't slowing down.

I was thinking of the blue-gray upholstery on the chair in front of mine...

Then, something heavy started pushing me from behind. The pressure forward made me think it was another car, but it felt soft on my back. I sucked in my breath in shock – and the air wasn't dusty and warm.

It was cold, air-conditioned. I was back on the bus. My hot dog had significantly less mustard on it, but some of it was staining the bus seat. My knapsack was still on my shoulder.

In the seat across the aisle, a little Latino boy opened his eyes wide. His mother didn't see me; she was busy with an infant on her other side.

I put my finger to my lips, afraid of him shouting.

Even though his eyes didn't leave me, he nodded slowly.

That was the second time. I knew it wasn't an illusion.

-

One or two of the passengers in the back had noticed I was running after the bus. While I was running, they had shouted for the driver to stop, saying he had left somebody behind.

Even though I was back in my seat, the bus slowed to a stop. The driver got out. When the dust cleared and he saw nobody behind the bus, the driver got back on, took out a clipboard, and began checking people's names off his list as he walked down the aisle.

When he got to me, I was sitting underneath my blanket again – hair out of the ponytail and hot dog under the blanket. When he said, "Turner, Maggie," I nodded my head.

He did a double-take on his clipboard before checking off my name, like there was some mistake that he caught just in time.

By the time the driver reached the back of the bus, the passengers upfront were moaning.

"Who said we left somebody behind?"

None of the passengers in the back acknowledged it. The driver stormed back to the front of the bus, turned over the engine and kicked it into gear.

-

When I finished the hot dog, my stomach stopped growling. According to my ticket, I had the rest of today, tonight, and some of tomorrow morning to be on the bus.

I checked my pulse to see if there was something wrong with me. I couldn't remember if I was doing it right.

When the bus stopped again, I wasn't hungry or thirsty – and I was scared of being left behind a second time.

At this point, I didn't know how I'd wound up in Spokane to begin with.

I felt sure now that I had not blanked out the first time. When I landed in the bus, the people were still saying the driver had left someone behind. No time passed at all.

What if I was unconscious when I made it on the bus? I'd never been knocked unconscious before. Still, I was pretty sure a knocked-out person wouldn't have been able to get on the bus, woken up, and still heard people saying someone else was left behind.

I began to worry about the car wreck. The police or somebody would find my purse in the wreck – unless there was a fire or something.  
What would Mom and Dad say, though? I wasn't injured in the car wreck. I was several hundred miles away. Anyone looking into the situation would figure I had run away – without my purse – before someone stole my car and wrecked it. As unlikely as it sounds, it's the only explanation they would be left with.

What was the truth, though? I wasn't sure I could say.

That I'd traveled hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye just by thinking of where I wanted to go?

I was the only one who would believe me, and I still didn't.

-

When I woke up from an afternoon nap, we were stopping again – this time at a bus station in Idaho Falls.

Most of the bus riders were either nodding off or quiet. The bus driver announced his part of the drive was ending. People going on to Salt Lake City would have to wait for the next bus to arrive in almost an hour.

Plenty of time.

After following everyone into the moderately busy station, I took a turn to the ladies room. I would later have to check in my ticket to show that I'd arrived and have my ticket stamped, ready to go on the next leg. But I could do that later.

Once I got to the bathroom, I locked myself into one of the stalls for the handicapped. Normally, I think those should be saved for the handicapped, but this time I needed the space.

I set down my knapsack on the tray tile with black grout. I thought the floor seemed clean enough, though I wasn't about to use my blanket. I stretched the cloth knapsack as far as it could go to create a barrier between me and the stall door. Then, I stepped beside the toilet, trying to get as much space between me and the far corner.

I took a breath and held it.

And I was on the other side of the stall. My nose bumped the door. The knapsack was undisturbed. _I'm doing whatever this is on command._

Outside the stall, someone turned on the water, and a pair of voices began talking.

"When's the next bus come again?"

"In an hour. What's the ticket say?"

"I don't know. I left it with our bags."

"Can you believe what this trip is doing to my skin?"

"I know. I found the biggest pimple yesterday."

"I miss the Florida sun."

"Soon, it'll be Pacific sun."

If there was going to be any better way to see if I was losing time, I couldn't think of it.

"God, I hear the waves are giga-"

I went to the other side of the stall. This time, I was facing the knapsack – the opposite direction I had been facing.

"-antic on the West Coast."

"Can I borrow your skin cream?"

I tried to go outside the stall without opening the door.

"Sure, just don't use it all."

"I don't us-"

I didn't go anywhere.

"-se it all."

Maybe only to places I can see? That made no sense. Both times before, I went to places I couldn't see with my eyes. I was just thinking about each place. I thought I remembered the outside of the stall. I stepped over the knapsack to peer outside the stall.

"You use more than no-"

I was outside the stall, facing the wall.

"-ormal people do. Whoa."

One of the girls noticed me. They wore loose pajama-type clothes. One of them was drying their face with one of the paper towels while the other had her finger in a jar of skin cream.

"Oh, you been waiting long?" the girl with the skin cream said. She began applying a lot to her forehead.

"Yeah. Sorry we didn't notice you there," the girl drying her face said. She wore a shirt that said "Drama queen."

I didn't know what to say. They weren't acting odd about my appearance.

"I just forgot my bag and the stall's locked," I said. "I don't think there's anyone in there."

The drama queen threw away her paper towel and sauntered over. "Let me see."

She came over and started to climb beneath the door. She didn't even test the door.

"There you go," she said as she came back out. I picked up my knapsack.

On my way out of the bathroom, I heard behind me, "What a ditz. She locked herself out of a bathroom stall."

-

I sat down on one of the benches lining the Idaho Falls bus station. Maybe I couldn't figure out how this was happening to me. But I was tired of the bus ride.

I tried thinking of our new house in Rosamond.

The walls were blank – I hadn't put up any of my posters – and Mom said it would take some touching up.

"Are you okay, honey?"

I opened my eyes. An older woman, looking like a bag lady with three purses in her hands, was stooped beside me on my bench in the bus station.

"I'm fine," I said with a dismissive smile.

I leaned back in the chair with my knapsack on my stomach and closed my eyes. I hoped I looked like I was trying to nap. I kept trying to bring back the visual memory.

The door to my room turned in to the right— or was it the left?

There was a window, with blinds, and it was sunny.

I remembered (or imagined) my boxes on the wall.

When I squinted my eyes open, I still saw the bus station ceiling.

Suddenly worried, I thought of the women's bathroom.

The sound of running water echoed around me. I found myself standing outside the bathroom stall, clutching my knapsack to my stomach.

When I walked out, a small crowd was gathered around my former bench seat.

Instead of sitting back down, I went to the ticket changer to validate the ticket for the next stretch on the bus. There didn't seem to be anyway I could think of cutting this trip short.

-

After calling home, I found a comfortable seat on the bus and tried to go to sleep.

When you count up from zero, you jump though a lot of numbers. Between 1 and 2 is 1.5 and 1.78 and so on.

The bus was quiet, stopping much more rarely. The bus driver, an elderly man, was playing classical music near the front of the bus. Only the occasional violin interrupted my thoughts.

If I went forward two centimeters, would I be jumping all the millimeters and nanometers between 1 and 3?

What about when I normally move? I'm walking along, say, at about a foot a minute. Divide that by 12, and that's one inch per 5 seconds. Even further, that's one-fifth of an inch in one second. Breaking it down even further, I'm traveling over several measurements of distance almost instantaneously. Normal people (_Am I not one of them any more?_) do this all the time without knowing it. We jump from 1 nano-inch to 2 nano-inches away without even thinking about it.

If I jump from 1 foot to 2 feet, I'm hardly doing anything different; it's just on a bigger scale. California to Washington – that's a much bigger scale.

I slept on the bus. Passing images of scenery jumped past me in my dreams.


	2. Complications

2. Complications

By the time the bus dropped me off an hour late Thursday, Dad found out about the Tempo's crash.

I didn't know how he would react if I had to tell him. Fortunately, the cops already did. They had approached Dad and Mom to discuss my possible death, considering I'd been missing and my purse had been found.

When Dad started to cry while hugging me at the bus station, I felt like I was going to lose it.

Mom was already crying, which didn't make it easier.

-

We didn't really say anything on the drive home.

That gave me time to look out the window, to start taking in the sights. But I still noticed Dad looking at me in the rearview mirror.

-

I started paying attention to the house more. While Mom carried my knapsack, I was noticing the two-story home had empty planter pots on its windows. There was red-brick. The lawn smelled like tree sap.

I was pretty hungry, having skipped breakfast. I had spent all of Aunt Ruthie's $20 on food the day before.

Mom was making us sandwiches in the kitchen.

"Honey," Dad started. "You know you can tell us anything, right?"

He looked at Mom in the kitchen, but when I turned back to look, she was picking deli slices.

The thought occurred to me right then: what if Aunt Ruthie phoned ahead? I was on the bus a long time. They could have talked a lot. Maybe they know what's happening to me.

"Dad, I didn't run away. I swear."

"We're just asking for his name," Dad said. "You don't have to give us any details. Unless there's something you think we should know."

"Who's name?"

"Whoever took you from school." Here, Dad produced my purse, kept safe in a plastic bag. One side of it was a little burned. "We just need his name."

Mom sat down in the fourth seat of the table, far away from where Dad and I were sitting.

Inside the bag was a slip of paper, identifying the contents, my name written in a couple of places.

"Okay, stop here, Dad." I had to take control somehow. "Stop. This is not what you think it is."

Dad had folded his fingers together on the table in a fist. "Then tell me what this is. Tell me quick. The police are coming in a few minutes to take our statement. They thought you were dead after the accident."

I started to get really nervous. Random thoughts of Spokane – my old room, the tree house, Aunt Ruthie's extra room – drifted in. I needed to focus.

"Dad, okay. Don't do anything for a minute. Okay? Can you tell the police not to come?"

I realized later that sounded worse than I meant.

Mom stood up again. "Do you need some water, honey?"

"Jennifer," Dad said to Mom without turning his head. The first time I heard that sound, Dad was going to punish me for breaking his medals case when I was nine. He turned the edge in his voice to me. "Tell me what this is, Maggie."

"Okay. I think I can show you right now, but Dad, please, please don't ask me a lot of questions. Okay, can you promise me that?"

His face looked like stone. "I can't promise anything, Mags."

Behind me was the kitchen, which was in both Dad and Mom's field of view.

"Keep your eyes open."

I jumped to the kitchen, holding my balance on the counter edge. An empty, porcelain bowl rocked out of balance, but I caught it before it fell off the counter.

When I set it back down, Mom and Dad were still looking at me. Dad's stone-face was gone. Instead, he was blinking at me.

"Mom? Dad?"

Mom answered like she was watching a movie. "Yeah?"

"Ask me to bring you something."

"Okay, um," Mom said, still listless. "Pass the salt."

I grabbed the big salt container from the spice cabinet, then jumped to behind Mom.

"Guys?"

Dad sprang up out of his seat, and Mom shrieked.

There was a knock at the door.

Mom put her hand over her mouth, looking at Dad.

"No time, Mags. Is this the truth?"

I nodded vigorously. Every time Dad asked "Is this the truth?" I knew I was safe. He was used to discipline on the air force base. I heard he was a rough person to work with. I always thought he was on my side, though. When he asked that, he always stood up for me.

Then he went to answer the door.

Mom and I stood quiet, listening while Dad talked to the policemen. We looked at each other. My stomach growled. I heard Dad say, "We're finishing a formal statement, officer. Good work." Then the door closed.

Mom and I breathed together, and she smiled sincerely for the first time since I got home.

-

Dad wanted to get our statement written fast. For about an hour, I ate while we made up a story about my car being stolen and my long walk home in the unfamiliar Lancaster area. Dad said we shouldn't mention Spokane at all since no one would check it. He and Mom didn't mention my bus ride to anyone coincidentally.

Dad went into his office in the house for a while, using the fax machine.

Mom said I should take a shower and get comfortable. I walked most of the way to my room. I couldn't remember it well enough to jump the distance.

-

Even before I could jump, I always found familiar bathrooms comforting. It's grounding, you know? Like a security you can't get anywhere else. It occurred to me in the shower that I should set up a scented candle in my bathroom. Something to make it really memorable.

When I jumped to the main floor – not the kitchen – and walked in to find Dad and Mom arguing in whispers.

Dad saw me and said, "It's time for her to make her own decisions, Jennifer."

Mom's arms were crossed. She was looking defiant but about to cry. She didn't say anything.

"Mags, this is up to you. I'm not forcing you into anything," Dad said. "We want what's best for you, but you have to have your say in that, too. Do you understand?"

"Okay," I said.

"Now, do you want to still have to go to school or," Dad said, "or would you rather have a private teacher and stay home to learn about this— this talent?"

Mom threw her hands up in the air and stormed out.

It seemed like a simple question. Even though I didn't have any friends yet at Antelope Valley High School, there wasn't any reason why I couldn't make some – at least eventually. Besides, I'd never been privately taught before.

"I'd rather stay at the high school," I said.

"What?" Dad didn't look happy.

Mom came back in from the kitchen. "Oh, honey," she began.

"Jennifer, did you talk her into this?"

"Honey, I already told you. The girl needs her social life. She's just starting out again, aren't you, honey?" Mom began, but Dad cut her off.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Dad was pleading with me.

I thought about all the times I wanted to cut classes and hang out with friends. If I stayed home all the time, what else would I do? I'd spend my entire day studying and jumping and – "Yeah, Dad. I'm sure."

Dad stormed off. "I tried. If this blows up on us, don't say I didn't try."

Mom gave me a hug.

-

We had dinner after I'd unpacked my room from moving. It was weird unpacking the boxes. It felt like I had moved twice. But I also had the chance to practice, too. I jumped out my door a couple times, jumped to the bathroom to put something in the drawers, jumped outside for some fresh air. Mom began watching me after she saw me jump to the kitchen for a drink and jump back.

"Go ahead. I'm just curious."

She leaned on my door threshold while I jumped boxes to my closet, clothes to my dresser. I almost didn't have to walk. Everything was one step away.

"Have you always been able to do this?" she asked softly.

"I don't think so," I said. "I mean, going to Spokane was the first time ever."

Then it occurred to me that she or Dad have been able to jump.

"Can you, you know, do it?" I asked.

Mom laughed. "If I'd been able to do that, I wouldn't have worked at the factory in Kentucky all those years. No," she said, sounding admiring. "Whatever this is, it's special. It's a miracle."

"Can Dad?"

Mom scoffed. "Your father? No. You know, after being married this long, I think I'd have noticed it if he could do what you're doing. He spends forever taking out the garbage, hates having to climb stairs."

Mom watched me as I unpacked most of my boxes. It felt like it took less time than normal – I was a veteran at moving with Dad moving so often for the air force – but it was late afternoon when I was finished unpacking.

-

I told them everything about my trip at dinner.

In a weird way, it was the best dinner we ever had as a family. Usually, we sit quietly while Dad and Mom talk about their days, things they have to do. Instead, I was telling them everything about what I'd discovered – and its limits as I've found them. Dad wanted to test some of them out right then, asking me to jump to places we had lived that I could remember. Mom wanted us to finish our dinner, but I was curious, too.

"So, Maggie, um, do you need a ride to school?" Mom asked.

"Yes, I think so," I said. "I've only been there once, and it feels like forever ago."

-

The next morning, I jumped to the car. This was going to be my first day, all over again.

Mom dropped me off at the end of Lancaster Boulevard in Antelope Valley High School's north lot. When I closed the door, she rolled down the window.

"Can you find your way home from here?"

The drive was about 15 minutes. I had no problem remembering my bedroom.

"Sure."

"Remember what your father said. If you need anything or something happens, come—"

"Come straight home," I said. "I know, Mom."

She blew a kiss.

-

On my first day, I didn't know anyone. Now, as I made my way to the registrar's office, some faces seemed familiar but still unfriendly. I put on my general smile and tried to not look too close to anyone.

The registrar had a surprise for me.

Apparently one of the girls from gym turned in my missing memory book. It occurred to me that I should have left it home that first day if I didn't want it stolen. After the registrar printed out a new schedule – my original was lost in the car accident – I walked out to the bathrooms in the hallway. With the stall closed, I jumped back to my bedroom in Rosamond and dropped off the memory book on my bed. Given a few seconds at home, I brushed my hair down. It was being a little frizzy for some reason. When I jumped back to the bathroom and walked out, I was surprised to find a boy washing his hands at one of the sinks.

"What are you doing in here?"

His mouth fell open. "How'd you get in here?"

"This is the girl's bathroom," I said. "Get out."

He looked past me – at the stall I just walked out of. "Is there a door back there?" He wiped his hands on his jeans and walked to the stall.

"I said get out!"

"How did you get in here?" he said.

I was getting a little worried.

"See the urinals? This is the guy's bathroom."

I must have missed seeing urinals when I walked in. I'd never really seen them in real life, but I've seen them in movies – sort of. My cheeks turned red.

When I turned to walk out, the boy was in my way. "How did you get in here?"

I was at school for ten minutes, and I was already in a confrontation. Of course, I technically started it by going in the boy's bathroom. It was just a misunderstanding.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I just used that stall," he said, pointing.

Oh, gross.

"No, not like that—"

Three more guys walked in. They were much bigger than this boy, who was backing up.

"Is that Ryan?"

"Who's your girlfriend?"

If it wasn't for Dad's stern look suddenly in my mind, I would have disappeared right then. We'd decided to keep it a secret.

"She's new. She doesn't know anything," the smaller boy said.

"Ryan's found himself a girl."

"She doesn't know anything, huh?" asked one guy wearing a polo-shirt. He had his hands in his pockets. "What's she doing in here, then, if she doesn't know anything?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Ryan said. The fact that "Ryan" wasn't turning his back on them began to creep me out.

Without waiting, I said, "I got lost. I just started a couple days ago."

The guy in the polo shirt was looking at Ryan, who looked like he was losing the staring contest.

"I don't think she's clean. I think your girlfriend should probably stay for this."

I backed up against the bathroom wall. The stall I'd just come in from was open, and Ryan was backing into it.

"Guys, look," he said. "There isn't any more, okay? I don't know anything about where to get more."

I didn't want to be here, anymore. I thought about home.

The polo-shirt guy pushed Ryan back and he stepped into the stall with me.

"I bet you can find some—"

Ryan stepped back onto my foot, and I jumped home.

Suddenly, Ryan was tipping forward, hitting his head on my dresser.

"What the hell?" he started to mumble, but he looked like he was dizzy.

I thought I heard Mom downstairs.

Panicking out of habit, I pulled Ryan up by the shoulders and tried to jump back to the school to the north lot entrance. Breathe deep, and–

Ryan tried to shake out of my arms, but we both lost our balance. I sat down hard on concrete while Ryan skipped a few steps before putting his hands out forward. This was where Mom dropped me off this morning.

"Hey," I said. "Are you okay?"

Ryan didn't say anything. He just laid there, with his face near the concrete, his elbows jutting up.

"Hey, we're at the school. Come on. Get up," I said, standing.

"Uh, what day is it?"

I sighed. "I've got to get to class."

I figured he was too disoriented to figure out what was going on. If I left him there, he'd come up with some explanation for what happened.

Ryan was on his feet, catching up to me. "Wait. What happened?"

"Nothing," I said. We went in.

"You said it's still now, right? It's still today? Did I black out, or was I dreaming?" Ryan said behind me.

"Um, I'm late for class."

Ryan grabbed my elbow. "Wait, just wait a minute. Okay? I'll walk you. But I have to do something."

-

Turns out, I had to find my next class on my own. The administrative office asked Ryan a few questions about the guys in the bathroom. I saw him in the break between my first two classes, talking to the school resource officer and the principal. After my third class, he wasn't in the office anymore.

I tried to pay attention in classes, but part of me kept worrying about that guy Ryan. I wasn't sure whether he really could figure out what had happened. Still, I knew that if he was discussing me with the school, I would have been called to the office at least once.

The other part of me was preoccupied with trying to keep up with my schedule. The school felt like a huge compound, and my classes were on opposite ends of the building. Every time the bell rang, the halls filled with students. I didn't jump once, though. I didn't know where I was going, or who would see.

The only time I did jump was to go back to my house, to my own bathroom.

-

There was at least one kid in each class who would point me in the direction of my next class. However, I didn't make any real friends. I was always a little shy on the first couple of days when we moved to a new school. This was my pattern. But most of the students and teachers were preparing for end-of-the-year tests. The counselors hadn't told me what we were going to do about my tests, so I had to check in with them at the end of school each day.

When I left the counselor's office, students were crowding around the front entrance. I waved to a few people I recognized from class and walked to the student parking lot.

Mom wasn't going to come and pick me up.

Past the main building, there were at least six portable classrooms behind a fence.

Perfect.

"Hey!"

From around one of the corners came Ryan, running.

If I had run, he would never have found me – until tomorrow, when we bumped into each other at school again.

"Hey," I said, not really looking him in the eye.

"Hey. Um, what's your name?"

I started to back up.

"Wait. Don't- don't go." The way he said "go" implied more than walking away. "I just want to thank you. For this morning."

This wasn't what I had in mind for making friends on the first day. I was imagining a nice girl from physics class – maybe someone in English.

"Don't mention it," I said. "Please."

Ryan nodded. "So it was real?"

I was already feeling nervous. Now, I felt snappy. "Yeah, it was real. A real big mistake on my first day. If you tell a soul, I'll—"

"No, I won't tell anybody. I promise. I just- I just wanted to thank you for getting me out of there."

I hadn't even thought of my accident this morning like that at all.

"Those guys have been harassing me since they graduated a couple years ago. I just wasn't able to get them caught in the school. At least, until today." Ryan stuck out his hand. "So, thank you."

I shook hands with him. "You're welcome. My name's Maggie."

"I'm Ryan. So are you waiting for your ride?" It took him a moment longer to figure out what he was asking. "Never mind."

"I'm walking around. What about you?" I asked. "Are you waiting for a ride?"

"No," he said. "I walk. We don't live too far away, but I take my time because no one's home until late anyway."

"Oh."

"It's actually an hour-long walk."

One of the teachers – one I didn't recognize – came out the side door by the portables.

"Hey kids. We're locking up. Go home. You can call from the office if you need a ride."

We shook our heads and walked around to the gate. When I heard the teacher close the door, I jumped to the other side of the fence. Ryan, distracted by my jump, walked into a pole.

"Can you do that anywhere?"

"Almost."

"Can you give me a lift home?"

-

I walked with Ryan for most of the way, jumping him occasionally to places that I could see – like in the bathroom at Idaho Falls. After a while, I found a stride. If I could see the spot well enough, I could jump him to it. Every 100 feet or so, we'd jump to an alley or something.

Ryan listened to my story, though I didn't go into much detail. He asked a lot of questions that I hadn't even thought of.

"Can you jump into the air where you're not standing on anything?"

"How much weight can you carry with you?"

"Are you imagining yourself in a spot, or are you remembering it?"

My head was spinning, and we had the rest of the school year – some two months – to talk. I had to get home since my parents were expecting me instantly back.

-

We finally stopped on Tiana Street in Lancaster. I could hear the highway from his door. Ryan, who had asked several questions about two minutes ago, turned quieter. He had looked at the apartment parking lot, staring at the cars.

"Do you want me to pick you up for school tomorrow?" I asked more to break the silence than anything else.

"Yeah, at 7:30 or something?"

"Yeah, I'll knock."

Ryan opened the door. It was left unlocked. I tried to look in, but Ryan closed the door quickly.

"See you," he mumbled.

The door was closed before I could say anything back.

I jumped home.

When I set my backpack on the bed, I decided not to tell my parents that Ryan knew.

That may have been a mistake, looking back on things.


	3. Discoveries

3. Discoveries

Dad took me by surprise when I got home, and I jumped to the pink fuzzy rug in the upstairs bathroom. I jumped back.

Dad was normally home a couple of hours after I was. Instead of working at the air force base, he was sitting in the living room with a box. The box had a Sharpie marker word scrawled in Mom's handwriting: "Pictures."

"I'm just curious, honey."

I was, too. I just hadn't given myself the time to think about it.

Dad had opened the box and tried to sort out the different places we'd lived. Mom apologized when she brought in water. "I keep meaning to do something with those pictures. I should at least organize them."

We'd lived in so many places growing up, and I was little for a lot of them.

"So, you have to remember the places really well for you to go there, right, Mags?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember New York?"

He dropped a picture of a window looking out over trees and buildings. There was a potted plant and the shades were pulled back. In the foreground, you could see someone standing there, but the window light was so bright that only their silhouette appeared.

It was me. I must have been six or seven years old. I remembered buying ice cream while on a walk with Mom, but I couldn't picture the place. I definitely didn't remember the window in the picture.

"Sorry, Dad. Let's try this one."

I pulled up a picture of a road trip we'd taken. There was a picture of a Route 66 sign beside the long stretch. Mom was holding my hand, and we were both pointing at the sign while squinting in the sun. I couldn't remember if we were smiling or feeling hot. However, the memory of my bus trip melded with this one, and I kept imagining it was in Utah.

"Where was this?" I asked Dad.

"It was Florida, I think." Dad was shuffling through the pictures, looking for a few specific ones.

We moved so often. I thought about where I went to middle school in Dayton, Illinois. I could remember the big hallways but nothing else.

"Honey, didn't you have homework?"

A chapter in science and a worksheet in history. But I felt like jumping.

Dad handed me one. "Try this."

It was a picture of me in front of Mrs. Cantrell's room, my fifth-grade teacher, holding a certificate. I wasn't smiling in this picture. Instead, I had a grimaced face, almost scowling at the camera. I remembered Mrs. Cantrell had tried to comfort me that day after the graduation ceremony. I was wearing a long dress that Dad and Mom made me wear – all the hype for graduation. A few of the girls I thought I knew – Megan something – had started calling me "chicken legs." When we had to walk outside to get to the gym for graduation, the dress blew up, showing my underwear. Megan's voice came back to me, "Don't hide those chicken legs."

"I can do this one," I said, standing.

Dad gave a nod, but he didn't stand.

"Do you want to come with me?"

Dad looked unsure. "Can you do that?" Mom was peeking in from where she was preparing dinner.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Just bring back a souvenir."

"Can I have a cell phone?"

"We'll talk about it," Dad said. He winked.

"Okay."

I jumped.

-

When I returned with a binder showing the address and city of my old school in Missouri, Dad was in the kitchen and Mom was just walking out, a frustrated look on her face.

Until I appeared.

She shrieked for a moment, and Dad burst back into the living room.

"Here you go. See? Junior High School, near Whiteman," I said.

Mom turned on Dad. "This is just what I mean. Don't you think someone's to miss this some stupid binder? Let her grow the way she needs to."

They were fighting again. My stomach felt like it was caving in on itself.

Dad was looking at the binder. His face passed from impressed to reverent, from suspect to confused.

"Did it feel good to exercise a little bit?" he asked me, ignoring Mom.

It did feel good, but I didn't want to admit it. "Sure, it was fine, I guess. Can I go to my room?"

Dinner was over, and Mom nodded. I jumped directly to my room. Downstairs, I heard Dad start talking. "See? I said…"

-

My typical day for the rest of the spring semester at Antelope Valley High School went like this.

I woke up around 6:30 a.m. and got ready for school. Then, I checked my Google e-mail account. Most mornings, there was a little message from Ryan Newquist (I heard his last name at school) asking for a ride.

Then, I would jump to the cement stairs leading to his apartment on Tiana Street and knock at about 7:20 a.m.

Usually, Ryan came out with his backpack in his hands. I'd lift him under his arms and jump to the high school gym, which was open but empty in the mornings.

Then, we split up for classes. After going to the bathroom at home a few times after lunch and arriving a little late for class, I set up a clock by my bathroom mirror. Breaks were only 11 minutes long – which seemed too short. Still, I made it back to classes on time.

After school, Ryan would meet me by the school portables, and we'd jump to his parents' apartment. No one was home most days. When someone was, we just parted. I never met his family, nor did Ryan talk about them, and I didn't say anything about my family except to say Dad and Mom couldn't teleport.

We did spend a lot of time talking about teleporting.

"So you weren't dropped in a vat of something?"

"What? No, I wasn't dropped in a vat. I was almost in a car wreck."

"Then what happened?"

I shrugged. "The car wrecked, and I wasn't there."

"Why don't I hear anything when you appear?"

"Like what would you hear?"

"I don't know. A pop or a poof – you know. Air rushing away from the spot you just appeared in."

Sometimes, I couldn't answer any of his questions. We'd test things out – jump away and come back – but it didn't seem like we learned anything.

Instead of talking, I guess I could have started my homework.

After a while, I'd jump home, straight to my room and start working on homework. If I made enough noise with my backpack, Mom would hear me downstairs and come up to check on me.

With dinner over with, I went back up stairs. Mom seemed to have won the fight over doing any family experiments.

When everyone had gone to sleep, or mostly asleep, I would jump back to the Shadle Park beside my high school in Spokane. I missed my friends, but if I knocked or something, they would think I was a runaway. Phone calls would be made. I remember a talk my dad gave me once, about learning to be happy where I was.

Well, now I could be anywhere.

Eventually, some of the Spokane drug users would show up, kids I recognized from high school. I jumped home, then, and slept.

-

"So, can you carry anything with you? Do you feel it if it's a lot of stuff?"

I didn't think so: I didn't notice much difference between carrying Ryan home from school and when I jumped alone. Still.

"Not really. Should we test it?"

Ryan's house, when he let me into it, was messy. Ryan pulled a cardboard box out of the corner. "Jump this to school."

The box, almost as wide as my shoulders, was noticeably heavy. Heavy, like a box of paper, and its contents didn't shift much.

"Are you sure you can even lift that?"

I wasn't picking it up but a few inches. Just as I tried to jump, the box slipped out of my hands. It landed on the high school gym floor. I had been touching it but not carrying it. It slammed onto the gym floor, loud. A coach – maybe basketball – was leaning against the entry from the locker rooms.

"Hey." He was looking past me, to see where I had come from. The nearest door was about 30 yards away. "Unless you're here for the boys' team, get that off the court."

"Uh, yeah." I started to heft the box. "Okay."

I carried the box in a squat to the exit, taking about five minutes. Five minutes longer than if the coach would just look the other way.

When I jumped back to Ryan's living room, someone else was there, facing away from me. It was a woman, and she was shouting.

I slid the box a few inches closer to where it had been. When the scraping sound drew the person's attention, I jumped to the front door of Ryan's apartment.

Inside, I heard a muffled shout.

I waited. I was worried for Ryan, but if I showed up too soon, they might think I had been there. My backpack! I'd left it in the living room.

I thought about jumping back inside, but I couldn't think of any place that I could appear without freaking everyone out.

Instead, I knocked.

After a second knock, a older-looking woman (she looked older than my mother) cracked the door slightly. Her talking voice was almost as hoarse as her yelling voice. "Who is it?"

"Hi. Um, my name's Maggie. I walk with Ryan home."

She cut off my last word. "What do you want?"

"I- uh, left my backpack. Is Ryan here?"

Ryan squeezed to the crack with my backpack. The woman had to open the door a little bit to let my bag pass.

"I'll be back soon, Mom," Ryan said, as he squeezed through.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going out, Mom. I'll be back."

"You're staying right here. Pizza's coming soon."

I was looking down at my bag.

"I said I'm going out. I'll eat later."

"You're going to eat with us. We never sit down anymore," Ryan's mother was whining.

"I'll be back before the pizza gets here."

In response, Ryan's mom slammed the door.

"Sorry," he said.

"I'm sorry. There was someone in the gym. It took forever," I started, but Ryan wasn't looking at me.

"It's her fault the house is the way it is." Ryan handed me his backpack. "Can you take this to the school for me? Just in the men's bathroom. I'm walking tomorrow morning anyway."

"Do you need any books out of it?" I wanted to ask him if he was okay.

"No, it's cool. Just go ahead. I'll see you at school."

I jumped his book bag to the men's bathroom where we'd met before. I figured that was the one he meant.

Ryan stopped wanting to hang out at his house after that.

-

A few times, Ryan and I appeared when someone else was in the gym. Once, it was a janitor, looking the other way. Ryan, fast thinking, pushed open a door to the outside and let it slam.

No one caught onto my jumping. I was getting really surprised, but Ryan said it was normal.

"People see what they want to see, Maggie," Ryan said one morning on the way to school. "I dress like this because it's what we've got, and everyone thinks I'm a druggie. Sometimes the teachers look twice at me, but I keep my grades up and it doesn't matter. Point is, no one's going to figure it out until someone sees us jump."

It felt weird to me to hear him use my word, but he was getting used to the trips.

We split up in the morning, and I saw the girl I sit beside in first period, Jamie. Runnels was her last name, I think.

"So, how long have you and Ryan Newquist been a thing? You're always together."

My nose wrinkled. "Me and Ryan? We just walk to school together."

"Uh-huh." She shut her locker and didn't say anything.

Maybe Ryan was right.

-

Dad was working later than normal. He was getting home at 7 p.m., reheating his dinners in the microwave. One afternoon, Mom and I were having a normal dinner – meatloaf.

"You know what I miss from Spokane?" she said.

We never talked about what we missed. I kept eating.

"I miss Panda Express. Remember the Chinese fast food place? I wouldn't mind paying for orange chicken."

"Really?" I'd only eaten half of my meatloaf. There was some parsley or rosemary or something in it. I didn't like it, but I usually ate whatever was there "because you never know when you'll get another meal," Dad used to say. I'd learned that non-military families didn't have mottoes like that.

"Well, if you want some Panda Express, it'll only take me a minute."

"Really?" Mom laughed. "You know, I never really forget, but I just didn't think about it. Let me fetch a ten."

Mom came back with her purse, digging out a wallet, and from that a $10 bill.

"I'll have to walk from Shadle Park, you know, past the McDonalds?"

Mom hesitated before handing me the money. "Can I go with you?"

She was dressed in casual clothes – some jeans and a loose sweater. The last time I went to Shadle Park, I had to come back for a jacket.

"Get a coat."

-

Mom and I appeared under a tree in the dark. For some reason, the sun was setting sooner here than it was in Southern California. The high school – under some kind of construction – was behind us and a concrete path wound around the trees to lights.

I let go of Mom too soon, and she slipped to one side. I grabbed her by the coat and helped her steady her balance.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She started to take a step. "Maybe I need to sit down."

We sat against the tree. Suddenly, Mom laughed, like an "ah-hah." "It smells like Spokane."

After that, she was okay. I thought about Ryan hitting his head on my dresser on his first jump. I should be more careful if I take anyone else – like Dad.

It was a two-minute walk to the Panda Express, a three-minute wait in line, and about another two minutes ordering for both of us. It felt like forever.

We talked about staying, but Mom said we should probably get back in case Dad gets home. We had a third Styrofoam box with his dinner in it.

When we got home, Mom didn't lose her balance.

"So, why don't we hear about any friends?" Mom asked when we were sitting at the table.

"Well, I hang out with some people after school, before I come home."

Mom nodded. "It's not like you ride the bus home with everyone."

"Mom. Almost everyone drives or hitches a ride anyway."

"Still. I mean, honey, you do your homework on the weekends. Aren't most kids – I don't know – going out to the mall?"

Mom wasn't normally this straight-forward.

"Are you feeling light-headed from the trip?"

"It's just that it's been maybe two months, and you haven't asked to go out once." Mom was fiddling with one of the chunks of orange chicken, scooping it through some rice. "I know you must miss Janice and Terry and Mark, but after two months, I was expecting you to make friends here. I mean, you've been so quiet," she said softly, "I was thinking there might be a boy."

I swallowed.

She was staring at me, and I couldn't think of anything to say fast enough. I couldn't say I walk to school with him, like I do with everyone else at school.

Suddenly, she blurt out, "There is a boy—"

"It's not like tha—" I said over her.

"What's his name?"

"Stop being so excited, Mom," I said. "We're just friends."

Mom looked askance. "What does that mean?"

"Well, we meet at school. He helped me on my first day – and I sort of helped him out," I said. I started to eat again.

"What. Is. His. Name." Mom steepled her fingers.

"Ryan Newquist. He lives in Rosamond." I ate some of my Chow Mein. "And he's just a friend. I help him with his math sometimes. He gets my essays started."

Mom gave the second "uh-huh" of my day – just like Jaime. "You know, that's how your father and I started out."

I crossed my arms and sat back in the chair, putting on my best superior face. "You know, sometimes people see what they want to see."

Mom used her chop-sticks to point at me. "That's exactly what I mean."

Her words were still in the air when Dad got home. I jumped to the kitchen counter and fetched his Styrofoam box.

"Where did you find a Panda Express?"

-

I asked for the weekend to watch a movie at "a friend's house." Mom said it was okay as long as other people were there. Dad wanted to go cell phone shopping with me on Saturday, too. We decided he and I would go after the movie. Dad pointed a finger at me. "Don't let anyone see. You know what I mean," he added unnecessarily.

Ryan already knew, and I figured he didn't count, being ex post facto. Still, I wasn't going to tell the others.

Saturday morning, I woke at about 9:40 a.m. and jumped straight to the bathroom for a shower. I was supposed to meet up with Ryan at 10 a.m.

When I was done, I made a swift motion to push the shower knob closed and jumped back to bedroom. Water – more than what was dripping off of me – splashed on to my bed and splattered the carpet.

Shoot.

Haste makes waste.

I jumped back for towels and left them soaking the floor and on the bed.

I resisted the urge to put on anything more exciting than capris and a shirt.

The extra water had come with me from the shower, but I couldn't figure how. I wondered what else would come with me. What if I was in a pool when I jumped to my room? What if I teleported into a pool from my room?

Would Dad be able to explain how that much water got into the upstairs bedroom?

As I patted the wet carpet with a dry towel, I figured there must be more rules to this than I knew about.

The clock in the bathroom read 9:54 a.m.

Promising I would think about it more, I jumped downstairs for cereal.

Dad was up, reading the newspaper. He only stirred when I opened the silverware drawer.

"Don't forget to be back before two," he said behind the front page.

"I won't."

I finished and looked at the time on the microwave. 9:53 a.m. That clock must be slow. I didn't even hear the bowl clatter in the sink when I jumped to Ryan's place.

-

Ryan couldn't find his copy of "Firestarter." We "walked" to Jamie's house – jumping about a hundred feet each second from alley to alley – following a map Ryan had printed out from . We stopped at a Blockbuster video to rent a copy and knocked on Jamie's door at about 10:10 a.m. Jamie's brother was watching it with us, too, and another girl that Jamie knew. Her name was Ginny, short and nervous about her braces.

I had to wear braces when I was younger. I remembered wanting to sink into the floor when I went to school my first day after getting them on.

Teleporting away wouldn't have been as bad, either. But then I'd have to deal with Dad hounding me over home tutoring or something.

Jamie's brother, Peter, served popcorn, but I didn't eat any.

The movie was obviously old. I guess you would call it an "action/thriller" – not a horror movie, like I was expecting. Peter and Ryan laughed at some of the government guys talking about how they would run tests. Ginny didn't seem as interested in the movie – she was looking away at Ryan or after the popcorn – but kept saying "Ooh, watch this part."

As if I needed reminding.

I couldn't take my eyes off of the movie.

I think Ryan might have noticed.

I didn't breath from the discovery of Drew Barrymore's powers all the way to the government experiments on her and her father. I tried to close my eyes when the mother died but couldn't.

I audibly exhaled when the father said, "Burn it all down."

Ryan had a worried look on his face when the credits started rolling. Everyone began chatting, and Peter stacked the popcorn bowls on the counter. I heard little Ginny say, "That would be so handy. You know? Popcorn – bang, and there it is."

You're being too quiet, Maggie.

I couldn't think of anything to talk about. I was still in the movie.

"I better get going." I stood up. "Dad's taking me to get a phone today."

Everyone began talking about their cell phone, but I didn't hear any of it.

Ryan put down his bowl and dusted his pants off. "I'll walk with you."

Jamie had a significant look but waved bye. Peter was pulling his keys out of his jacket.

"I can give you guys a lift home."

"That's okay," Ryan said. "We'll walk."

I tried to shut the door behind me, but Ryan shouted "Bye" and dashed out the door.

"Hey, wait up."

"Do I look like a bus to you?" I was heading for the next street over, an out-of-sight place to jump home. Ryan was half-jogging to catch up.

"What?"

I was boiling over.

"You know what." I jumped behind him and gave him a slight push. "Did you think that was some kind of joke? Are you trying to say the military is going to come after me some day?"

Ryan had stumbled far forward from my push because he was off-balance with running.

"They might. I'm not going to say I'm not jealous of you," and that made me blush, "But there are people who would do worse than try to hang out with you."

I had to sit still for a minute, but my legs kept walking.

Ryan followed slowly but close.

"Is that why you hang out with me?"

Ryan breathed. "It was at first."

"And now?"

Ryan was scratching at the back of his neck. "I don't know. I think you're cool, you know? Like I miss it when we can't hang out. I'm glad you came to the movie," Ryan added at the end.

I sighed, but at the same time, I didn't think I was ready to admit anything either.

"You know my dad's in the air force. That's why we moved so much."

"Really? Do you think the air force gave you those powers, or did any experiments on you as a kid?"

Whatever anger I had calmed down was suddenly on fire again. "What? No. Dad was totally surprised when I told him."

"You told him about it? Why would you do that?"

"What else? I can't hide this from my parents. They probably wouldn't ever guess, but they'd know something was up," I said. I hadn't thought it through that fully, but as I said the words, they made sense.

Ryan pushed the button on a crosswalk. The traffic was pretty loud, but I didn't feel like jumping home yet.

"Is the thing about the phone for real?" Ryan said.

"Yeah," I said. "I was kind of excited about it, but the movie must have put me in a bad mood."

"How do you know he's not going to bug it?"

I wasn't that paranoid at first, but I was getting there – and it was starting to irritate me. "He wouldn't do something like that."

When we crossed the street and a high hedge shielded us from the parking lot, I grabbed Ryan and jumped him to his apartment.

"I've got to go get ready."

Ryan sighed and set down his bag. "Look, I'm sorry about the movie. Just ignore it."

"Sure," I said, but I wasn't sure I could.

-

Mom was the one who took me shopping for my first bra. Dad never came with me, but I heard all kinds of embarrassing stories at high school in Spokane.

It was easy to imagine what Dad would have been like bra shopping when we arrived at the Verizon store at the mall in Lancaster.

Most of the models were on zip-wires. To examine them, you had to pull hard and keep pulling to keep the phone from getting zipped back.

I kept looking at some of the prices. I had paid for my own gas when prices were really high, so a phone for $700 seemed a little excessive.

"So, uh," Dad couldn't stop reading the small-fonted labels, "Do you see any you want?"

"I'm just looking now, I think."

"What about this one?" Dad pulled too softly, and the thin-bodied phone didn't budge. When he pulled harder, the phone's face twisted to the side. "Oh, sh—I think I broke it."

"No, Dad, I think that one's supposed to do that." I swiveled the face up, and a stretched number pad was below it.

"Oh."

I laughed to myself. Dad was always so in control. It was cute to see him like this.

What kind of phone did I want to get?

What if jumping disrupts the phone signal?

Dad was pulling out a Blackberry, beckoning me over. The wide screen was navigated mostly with a roller on the side.

"I guess price is no problem," I said, pointing to the $500 price-tag.

"I was thinking," Dad said, hunching in closer. "You said you couldn't do your thing if you didn't remember the place really well?"

I remembered trying to jump to my room in Lancaster from the bus stop in Idaho. I had been there only two days before but couldn't remember it well enough.

"Yeah. So?"

Dad turned the Blackberry on its face and pointed to the camera lens.

"We should probably get one you can record video with. You're bound to forget some places."

That was a good idea.

In the end, I decided for a normal sized phone, one that could dial on its face but also opened up sideways. The maximum memory storage was small. Dad bought a pair of SD memory cards to go with the phone.

Dad and the Verizon sales agent talked a lot longer about the calling plan while I got used to holding it. Dad was trying to get a better deal on the international calling plan. Getting unlimited long-distance in the nation was easy – and vital for someone like me. But I'd only ever been overseas as a child. I couldn't jump there yet.

On the ride home, I asked Dad why he was spending so much on me and the phone.

"Honey, I know I haven't been around to do a lot for you. But I can give you this," and he put a hand on my head while he drove. "We already had the trust talk when we gave you the car. This is just another step of adulthood, Mags."

I liked the feeling of his hand there. He used to do that when I was younger and his fingers could reach down to my chin.

I felt like I was betraying his gift whenever I remembered what Ryan said about Dad tracking the phone.


End file.
